Chapter Thirty-Two
Corbin
Jules’ fingers are threaded with mine as we walk through the Christmas Wonderland at Tate’s school, faux snow falling in soft, weightless flurries around us.
The string lights above cast everything in a golden hue, like the entire world has been dipped in warmth and magic.
Up ahead, Tate and Leo dart between glowing trees and oversized candy canes, their laughter rising above the soft hum of carols playing over the speakers.
Somewhere behind us, Pearla trails with a man she’s started seeing.
It’s not serious. Yet. But the look on her face tells me she’s hoping.
“What do you want for Christmas?” Jules whispers, her voice so close and soft it barely carries, but it still cuts straight through me.
She doesn’t say it like it’s small talk. She says it like she means it. Like she really wants to know.
I glance at her—at the gentle way her curls frame her face, at the hazelnut warmth in her eyes—and I already know. I’ve always known.
“I just want you.”
She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t shy away. Instead, she leans into me slightly, her shoulder brushing mine, grounding me. “You have me,” she says, and the words settle into my bones like a promise.
What she doesn’t know is that I’ve been carrying her engagement ring in my pocket for weeks.
The same ring I gave her years ago when I thought I knew what forever meant.
I’ve taken it with me everywhere. Out of hope, maybe, or superstition.
Waiting for the right moment. For the perfect alignment of peace and courage.
Because she deserves that.
After everything I’ve done—everything we’ve survived—she deserves a moment that’s real. One that doesn’t come with regrets or baggage or fear.
She deserves to be asked again. Properly. Not because we’re already living together. Not because we’re raising a child. But because I choose her. Still. Always.
And maybe I’m ready to ask.
“What do you want for Christmas?” I ask her softly, the words barely above the hum of holiday music and the buzz of children’s laughter echoing across the school’s Christmas Wonderland.
Jules' hand drifts instinctively to her stomach. It’s subtle—barely a movement—but I notice. We’ve talked about giving Tate a sibling, but we’re not rushing anything. Right now, we’re focused on healing. On rebuilding something that feels real again.
“Maybe a vacation,” she finally says. “Somewhere warm. The beach, maybe. Just the three of us.”
I smile, heart squeezing as I picture it. Tate chasing waves, Jules’ curls wind-blown and golden in the sunlight. “I like the sound of that.”
She glances up at me with something soft and hopeful in her eyes. “We could plan it for Tate’s spring break?”
It shouldn’t hit as hard as it does, but it does. Because for two years, planning anything beyond the next custody drop-off felt impossible. Now we’re talking about spring. About sun. About a future again. We’re not just surviving anymore. We’re dreaming. Together.
Before I can respond, Jules gasps. “Oh look. It’s Mrs. Whitney.”
Sure enough, the assistant principal is striding toward us, her signature power suit pressed and perfect, even at a festive event like this. She spots our linked hands and smirks knowingly.
“Mr. and Mrs. Banks,” she greets with a wink. “How are we this evening?”
“We’re good,” Jules answers, her voice warm but tentative.
“It looks that way,” Georgie grins. “Tate’s told just about everyone that his parents are back together. I like to think I had something to do with that.”
“You did,” I tell her honestly.
Jules turns, surprised. “She did?”
“She’s the one who suggested we spend time together again. Family dinners and all that.”
Jules shakes her head in awe. “You’re behind that? I’ve been wondering where he got that idea.”
Georgie shrugs modestly. “I like bringing people together.”
We share a laugh as Tate’s voice cuts through the crowd. “Come on, Mom and Dad!”
We follow his voice to the hot chocolate stand, where Tate and Leo are already pleading with wide eyes.
“Can we get some?” Tate asks, bouncing with anticipation.
“Please, Mr. and Mrs. Banks,” Leo adds dramatically, clasping his hands under his chin.
I laugh. “Of course. Go check if your mom and Tom want any,” I tell Leo.
As the boys disappear into the crowd, Jules and I move into line. She exhales beside me, a sound half contentment, half disbelief. “A year ago, I never would’ve imagined we’d be standing in line for hot chocolate together.” She pauses. “But I’m glad we are.”
And just like that, the world quiets.
The lights. The snow. The music. The laughter.
It all fades away because this? This is the moment.
I drop to one knee.
Jules’ eyes widen in shock. “Corbin… what are you doing?”
I smile as I reach into my pocket and pull out the ring I’ve carried for weeks. The one I gave her ten years ago. “Taking advantage of the magic.”
Tate appears just as I lift the ring. His eyes go wide.
“Jules,” I say, voice steady despite my heart thundering. “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I knew it the moment I saw you. You’re brilliant, and fierce, and endlessly creative. You’re the most incredible mother I could’ve ever imagined for our son.”
My throat tightens. I push through it.
“I messed up two years ago. And I’ve regretted it every single day since. I promised myself that if you ever gave me another chance, I’d never let go.”
She inhales sharply. Tears glitter in her lashes.
“I know we talked about taking it slow. I know we said we’d rebuild carefully. But Jules… I know what I want. I want you. I want this family. Forever.”
I take a breath.
“So will you marry me. Again? And before you answer, you should know… I’m not the man who makes the same mistake twice. If you let me be your husband again, I will love you better. I will honor you louder. I will never stop choosing you.”
Tears roll freely down her cheeks as Tate throws his arms around her waist. He’s crying, too. We all are.
“Yes,” Jules whispers, voice choked. “Yes, Corbin. A thousand times yes.”
I rise and she crashes into me. We stand there, in the middle of a hot chocolate line, tangled in each other, our son wrapped in our arms, tears falling freely down our cheeks as the snow machines keep on blowing.
Pearla’s waiting nearby, her phone raised. “I hope you don’t mind,” she grins. “But I got the whole thing.”
Jules laughs through her tears. “Thank you, Pearla.”
I wipe my face and sniff. “So… anyone still want hot chocolate?”
There’s a chorus of ‘yes’ around us.
Jules turns to me, her hand trembling slightly. “I need to call Sarge.”
“Go,” I tell her. “He’ll want to hear it from you.”
I watch her cross to a bench and sit down.
She dials, holding the phone with one hand and staring at the ring with the other, as if she still can’t believe this is real.
Her lips move. Her eyes well up again. And then she nods.
She’s smiling now. Really smiling. That unguarded kind of joy that you only see a few times in your life.
Tom appears beside me, watching the scene unfold.
“You chose an odd spot,” he says. “But it worked. She looks happy.”
“She is,” I say. “We both are.”
He hesitates. “Can I ask you something?”
“Shoot.”
“Do you think Pearla’s ready for something real?”
I smile. “She might be.”
“I love her,” he blurts. “And Leo. I was thinking of proposing.”
I raise my brows. “Might be a little soon.”
He looks sheepish. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“How long have you and Jules been dating?” he asks.
I laugh under my breath. “Twelve years.”
He whistles. “That’s a long time.”
“It’s the only time that ever mattered.”
And God, it’s true.
Every messy chapter. Every tear. Every almost.
It brought us back here.
Home. Together.
“Sarge says ‘Congrats,’” Jules says softly as I hand her a warm cup of hot chocolate. Her eyes are a little pink, but she’s smiling—really smiling—and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve seen all night.
“We have to celebrate!” Pearla announces, practically bouncing in place.
“Can we get pizza?” Tate jumps in immediately, the way only a seven-year-old can after a momentous life event.
“I do love pizza,” Leo chimes in solemnly, as if casting the final vote.
We polish off our hot chocolates with laughter still hanging in the air, then head for our cars.
It’s a short drive to Cardini’s. The same one that’s been a witness to so many of our turning points.
The first time we all had dinner together.
The awkwardness, the tension, the slowly cracking open of something new. Now, it feels like home.
Naturally, Tate bursts through the doors ahead of us and shouts the news to Kona before we even get fully inside. “Mom and Dad are engaged. Again!”
Kona raises his brows, grinning wide. “Am I catering the reception or what?”
“We’re not there yet,” Jules says with a laugh, her cheeks flushed with a kind of joy that makes my heart twist in the best way. “He literally proposed thirty minutes ago.”
“And I’m still your first stop?” Kona clasps a hand over his chest. “I’m honored.”
We’re led to the same booth in the corner—big and circular, familiar. Tate and Leo slide in first, already swapping ridiculous pizza topping suggestions. Jules scoots in next, then me, and the second we’re settled, her fingers find mine. She holds on tight.
“For the record,” she whispers, leaning close, her voice soft but firm, “we are not inviting your father to the wedding.”
I laugh under my breath. “That was never on the table.”
She smirks, satisfied.
“We should call your mom,” she says after a beat. “She deserves to know.”
Across the table, Pearla is rattling off topping options while Tom dutifully responds with, “Does Leo like that?” every single time. Jules watches them with a fondness that says she sees it, too. That slow forming of something good and real.
“Alright,” I say, pulling out my phone.
Jules leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder as I tap Mom’s name and hit video call.
“Hello?” Mom answers, slightly out of breath, her reading glasses slipping down her nose. “Corbin? Everything okay?”
“Hey, Mom,” I say.
“I usually see Tate on these. Don’t tell me something’s wrong.”
Jules lifts her left hand, tilting the camera so the ring is front and center. “We have some news.”
There’s a beat of silence. Then Mom gasps so loud I wince, and a second later she’s squealing, laughing, and clutching her chest. “Oh my God ! Are you serious? I knew it. I knew it! I am so thrilled !”
“We are too,” Jules says, her voice already cracking with emotion.
Mom dabs at her eyes behind the screen. “I’ve been hoping… praying, even. And now this? This is the best news I could’ve gotten. I’m going to call everyone. Every. One.”
Jules laughs, a tear sliding down her cheek. “We don’t even have a date yet.”
“But you will ,” Mom says. “Soon, I hope?”
Jules turns to look at me. There’s so much unsaid in her gaze, but I understand all of it. The history. The healing. The hope.
“Soon,” I promise, my hand closing around hers again. “Very soon.”
We hang up, celebrate with our friends, and then head home. Tate falls asleep quickly, his excitement finally giving way to exhaustion. There’s a bedtime story, a whispered I love you , a kiss to the forehead. Then the soft, familiar walk across the hall—our hall—to our room.
Ours.
I watch as Jules undresses, her movements unhurried, unselfconscious. She crosses the room to the dresser, opening one of the drawers she once left empty. I never filled them. I never could. Even when I thought she might never come back, I left them untouched. Waiting. Hoping.
Now they’re full again. Just like the space in my chest that used to ache.
She pulls on a soft pajama top, then sits beside me on the edge of the bed, brushing her hair over one shoulder.
“Do you ever wonder where we’d be right now if I hadn’t kissed you that night?” she asks quietly. “If I hadn’t stayed?”
I shake my head. “Not once.”
Jules smiles, but there’s something wistful in her eyes. “I keep thinking about it. That glass of wine. That moment. If I hadn’t taken the chance… I would’ve missed all of this .”
I reach for her hand, lace my fingers through hers. “I think we’d have found our way back, no matter what. You and me, we’re inevitable.”
She exhales a soft laugh. “We should paint the ceiling. It’s so… bland.”
“Let’s paint the ceiling.”
She laughs again, then climbs into my lap, her legs curling around me, her arms looping behind my neck. Her body molds to mine like it never left.
“You folded my thong the next morning,” she says with a smirk.
“I did,” I admit, my cheeks heating.
“I used to think you were so… rigid,” she muses. “But you’re not. You like order and calm, the way I like chaos and color. We’re opposites, but maybe that’s why we work. You ground me. And I pull you off the ground, just enough.”
I slide my fingers into her hair, savoring every word. “We make each other better.”
“I want to get married soon,” she says, her voice softer now. “Something small. But sentimental.”
I tilt my head. “Small like… living room small? Or courthouse small?”
She grins. “What if we got married on Christmas Day? Just a few people. A tree. Some lights. Tate in a little suit. Our family— together. ”
Emotion gathers in my throat, thick and real. “I love it.”
“That’s only two weeks away,” she warns playfully.
“We’ll figure it out,” I promise.
Her forehead rests against mine as she sighs. “We will, won’t we?”
I kiss her then, slow and sure. “We always do.”
And in that kiss, in that breath of warmth and hope and history, I know it’s true. No matter what happens next, she is the brightest thing in my sky. My beginning and my homecoming. My only always.